


Hydrangea

by theweddingofthefoxes



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: College professors, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 16:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12685569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweddingofthefoxes/pseuds/theweddingofthefoxes
Summary: Orson and Galen are professors who share an office at the university where they work -- and who share an interest in one another.





	Hydrangea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Iron_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Iron_Dragon/gifts).



There was no denying that Galen was precise. Other professors might skim the work that students handed in, checking to see that things were basically wrong or basically right before sticking a grade on it. Orson prided himself on his ability to accurately speed-read -- he'd actually been trained as a kid to do it, and the habit had never left. It sometimes got old, getting accused of not _really_ reading when he could simply take it all in a bit more quickly than most. Surely, Orson thought, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he openly stared over his desk at Galen, his office-mate never got that one thrown at him.

"You can head out if you'd like," Galen said, not looking away from the paper he was grading. 

"I promised I'd wait for you."

"You promised that before you got hungry. I've heard your stomach growl for the last ten minutes." Galen clicked his pen and marked something in the margin. 

Orson said nothing, just turned back to his computer and scrolled through his emails, checking to see if there were any he'd accidentally clicked on but hadn't responded to. None. He switched to the tab with Twitter and browsed the latest news stories, hearing the scratch of Galen writing something else. "You could always save it for tomorrow."

Galen gave the kind of _hmmm_ that one might give when investigating a forgotten item in the fridge for signs of mold. "I promised them I'd have these back tomorrow so they could make study guides for the final."

"Suit yourself." Orson never made promises of any kind to his students; he knew himself well enough to know he'd change his mind too readily. Maybe he'd offer extra credit at the end. Maybe not. It all depended....

He and Galen had gotten full-time status at the college around the same time, and neither of them had quite the seniority around here to get a private office in the Sciences building. So they'd been given an office to share, which hadn't been as bad as Orson had initially anticipated. There was plenty of space -- it'd be absolutely palatial for a private office -- and Galen was an ideal office-mate. Quiet, respectful, friendly. The two of them had always been in one another's outer circle, from the time they were in college together. They'd been hired as adjuncts within a year of each other by the same university, and then put in the same office....

...like the universe was trying to tell them something?

Well. Orson had never come to any conclusion other than that they were --meant to be. He wasn't sure in what capacity. He wasn't sure he believed in soul mates or anything like that -- but he _was_ a believer in destiny. And you couldn't escape it. Suppose he went and applied for some job in Jakarta, or Paris, or the Yukon? He had no doubt that somehow, Galen would find himself there, too. No use denying it. 

Their interactions had never quite been _flirty_ in the way of new lovers but rather like old ones. Like they'd been married for years. 

"I'm telling you, go eat if you're hungry," Galen insisted.

Like that. 

"I'm fine," Orson insisted right back, clicking on a AP Oddities story about a bear cub that had been filmed playing on a trampoline in a rural backyard. "Just tell me when you're done."

Every year around Thanksgiving, the university hosted a free dinner for faculty -- turkey, cranberries, stuffing, all of the usual fare. Neither Orson nor Galen had grown up in the States -- another sign they had been pushed together by some larger, invisible hand, surely; they'd both come here to go to college -- and so this was a new-ish tradition that Orson took a weird degree of enjoyment in. Getting an unlimited amount of Thansgiving food on the university's dime was not something to be missed, but he _had_ promised Galen he'd go with him to the dinner, and heading out while Galen sat alone in the office with the sky rapidly going dark seemed awfully bitchy, even for him. 

It was hard to get out of the grading swing, once you were in it, Orson knew. He stayed silent, checking emails, checking Twitter, listening to the scratch-scratch of Galen leaving notes on a paper, then another, then another. The daylight faded away before Galen had even finished his first five papers, and by the time he was good and done with the whole stack, it had been pitch-black outside for awhile, Orson half-absorbed in a listicle entitled "Shocking Evidence of Demons (Number 5 Will Make You Never Want To Sleep Again!)". 

"Jesus," Galen said, stretching. "We've been here way too long, huh?"

"By far," Orson answered, stretching too, as if in response. He hadn't realized how stiff his back had gone. "Think anything will be left?"

He was just joking, but Galen looked stricken. "Oh, god. I don't know--what time do they usually shut this whole thing down?"

"Galen. I'm teasing."

"Well, you did miss it because of me."

"Not necessarily."

But sure enough, when Galen pulled up to the building where the dinner was being held, Orson in the passenger's seat trying to talk louder than his grouching, grumbling stomach and his bike stowed safely in the trunk, it appeared to all be over. Catering staff carried tablecloths and warming trays out to their vans. Other faculty members were making their way out to the parking lot, heading home. "No turkey for us," Orson announced. "You're lucky I like you, huh?"

"Why don't we get some dinner somewhere else? I'll treat -- it's my fault --"

"You need to relax," Orson said, laughing as Galen looped around the lot to head back onto the main road. "Sure, you _did_ deny me the opportunity to get as much food as I wanted at a free school event, but...."

Galen groaned. "Well, we can go to a buffet."

"A turkey buffet?"

"I don't know any turkey buffets....:"

"You better find one." Again, that pained look crossed Galen's face, and Orson slapped his hand down on Galen's thigh, shaking him good-naturedly. "Or else I'll eat you instead, and I don't have tenure yet so I'll probably get fired..."

"If you're in prison, you don't have to grade quizzes."

"Every cloud has a silver lining."

They ended up at a Chinese buffet a few blocks from Galen's townhouse, one of those hole-in-the-wall places wedged in a shopping center between a CVS and a former video rental that was now nothing at all. Orson loaded up his first plate as if he had been limited to a single visit to the buffet table, and Galen showed a bit more restraint, neatly arranging his chicken and vegetables like he was expecting a photographer to show up and put the plate on the cover a of a magazine.

"It's been awhile since we've talked about anything but school," Orson offered, once they were both seated again. 

"It's been awhile since I've done much of anything besides school. It'd be nice to travel this summer, maybe."

"Where to?" Orson asked, his mouth already full. 

Galen shrugged, separating his chopsticks. "I've got a list. Not sure what strikes me most right now. But going alone is a bit daunting."

They were both quiet for a minute. Should Orson offer to come along, or would that be strange? He could make it into a joke somehow, but he was still chewing, and by the time he swallowed, the moment had passed. "They serve wine here, but nothing I like," Galen went on. "Same for the beer."

"Shame."

"I've got some at home, though."

"Don't you teach tomorrow?"

"I'm not suggesting we go on a bender, Orson." Galen grinned. "Merely have a glass of wine. Or beer."

"Or two."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have Friday classes."

"Or one," Orson amended. 

"Either way. I trust my own pacing. You can have as many as you like."

"And then pedal home on my bike? If I survive, the YouTube video someone will surely take will go viral, I bet."

"I'll take you home." 

"What if you can't carry me to your car?"

Galen snorted. "Then sleep on my floor, for all I care."

"I'd rather it be your bed."

This was completely, fully, wholly unintentional, and somewhere very far in the back of Orson's brain he marveled at how he just -- went there. Stone cold sober, just high on his own daring and blazing with satisfaction at finally having something to eat. But the majority of Orson's mind was in panic mode, realizing that it's out of his mouth, not just one of those reflexive thoughts. Yes, he'd believed for years that he and Galen are _destined_ in some way, but he had planned to broach the subject, if he ever broached the subject, with something resembling tact--

"I should make you ride your bike home just for that, Orson Krennic," Galen said, but there was a smile on his face -- not a huge grin or anything, more like a private little one, like Galen had won some kind of bet with himself, and even though Galen's eyes are averted, there is something mischievous in the way he looks. Relief rushed to the surface of Orson's heart. "At least let me buy your dinner first."

"A gentleman," Orson remarked, giving up on his chopsticks and using his fork to scoop his rice. "I guess it really was worth waiting for you to grade those papers."

"Oh, so if I hadn't offered to take you home, it wouldn't have been?"

"You're the one who keeps sweetening the deal."

Galen rolled his eyes, but that mischievous smile didn't go anywhere, not for the entirety of the dinner, which was now charged with -- possibility. Probability. Orson couldn't care less about getting a glass of wine, now, not when there was the chance that this was just Galen's way of inviting him inside, getting them alone together under circumstances that in no way involved the risk of a student knocking on the door and demanding to know why Orson wouldn't bump that 89.2 up to a 90. And the deal got even sweeter once they were back in Galen's car, before Orson could even get his seat belt on--suddenly there was Galen, leaning in for the most adorably-clumsy kiss, except it kept going, and Galen was shifting in his seat to get more leverage, to get into it with none of the restraint and grace he showed at the dinner table.

"Are--?" Orson managed to ask, before running out of breath as they sank into another kiss. "Are we doing this? Here? In the Chinese food parking lot--?"

"I was planning on going home, but--" The slighest look of sheepishness crossed Galen's face, but Orson dove back in to kiss him once more. 

"Home. Home is good. In a minute."

"A minute."

It was ten minutes before they could finally stay parted long enough for Galen to start the car. "Put your seatbelt on," he instructed, his voice thin, stretched by desire. "We'll be home in five."

 _Home_ \-- the townhouse that Orson was visiting for the first time -- was simply decorated, almost minimalist. Spotless chrome appliances, so the kitchen looked a bit like a spaceship. A pair of large abstract paintings on the wall opposite the TV that looked like Rothkos but weren't. They were all the details that Orson really had time to take in as Galen took off his shoes and went to pour them each a glass of wine, before his entire focus was just swallowed up by Galen again. 

"Shouldn't we toast something?"

Orson thought about it, then raised his glass out in front of him authoritatively. 

"To missing the faculty dinner in favor of something far nicer."

After that, Galen didn't waste any time in getting Orson into bed.

They were both experienced, Orson maybe a little more experienced than he should have been -- college was supposed to be a time to go out and have fun and find yourself and fuck everyone who would give you a backwards glance, right? But it was rare to find someone who made everything feel both brand-new and achingly familiar, and Galen was that person, but hadn't Orson always known that? From the classes they took together to being in the New Adjunct Faculty workshops together to being put in the same office to now, to Galen's bed, where Galen was kissing a blooming hydrangea of bites just below Orson's throat--

"Fuck--"

Galen glanced up, just to make sure that was a cry of pleasure and not pain, and Orson pushed his hand into Galen's hair. "Keep going," he commanded. "Just like--"

Like that.

It had paid off so, so handsomely to be patient. Not just today but--for so long--and now here they were, and Orson was idly, distantly wondering how much of these bite marks would be visible come tomorrow but who gave a fuck? Who could possibly care...?

"You like this?" Orson asked, half in the porny way, the way men ask do-you-want-to-take-my-cock, half genuinely wondering. Galen was not particularly expressive most of the time, the still-waters-run-deep sort. Unlike Orson. It would be easy for Orson to flatter himself and imagine that Galen had been harboring a crush on him for a long time, and had just been good at concealing it. Not to mention there hadn't been much of an opportunity for them to speak so freely at the school, to act on their impulses. But he wanted to know.

"God, are you kidding?" Galen shifted so he was straddling Orson now, both of them half-dressed in different ways. Orson just in pants, Galen just in his unbuttoned shirt. "I suppose I always assumed you would -- initiate. Like you did back at the restaurant. Somehow I knew you would eventually. Given the opportunity."

"One you provided, of course."

"I noticed you only took a sip of that wine before we came up here."

"The wine was pretense and we both know it."

"It is an _awfully_ good vintage, I promise."

There was no opportunity to reply to that, because Galen was shifting again, reaching down to unbutton, unzip, undo, remove -- to send that same blaze of satisfaction tearing through Orson's head, his body --

He hadn't been so aroused since he was a college student, maybe even not this aroused then -- feeling so heady and needy and _happy_ , content with his lot even as he was desperate for Galen's hand to close around him, or even better, his mouth. "You're speechless," Galen murmured, clearly delighted that Orson was capable of such a state. "That's--"

Whatever it was, it was thrilling enough to slow Galen's words in their tracks as he absorbed himself in the task of undressing and touching, and god, why should he be any less precise here than anywhere else? How could so much attention be such a tease, reduce Orson to forcing out a plea--

"Be patient," Galen said, and how could those two words -- free of expletives, a common entreaty, the command with the least bite -- wind Orson up so badly? 

"Can't."

"Be patient," Galen repeated, clearly savoring the way Orson writhed as Galen finally, finally got the pants off him. _Savor_ , the perfect word for the way they were both feeling, the look on Galen's face like he had been presented with some sumptuous dessert -- and for Orson to realize it was _him_ that Galen was radiating so much lust for, god, that was just--

How to be patient, in such a situation?

But yes, it was worth waiting for this too, for the way that Galen kissed another petal into the blue flower of bites on Orson's skin before working his way south, and Orson knew what was going to happen well before it did, because Galen was so intent on taking his time, on looking up every now and then to make sure Orson still approved, like Orson wasn't about to explode from how emphatically he agreed, yes, keep going--

Payoff -- Galen's mouth on him, and he was so _ready_ , finally--

"Galen," Orson gasped. "Holy--actual _fuck_ \--"

The soft rumble of Galen laughing, low, around him -- Orson had never literally seen stars, racing towards orgasm before, but he sure did now, practically blacked out. Had that never happened to him before? It was the loveliest thing, almost cute, in the kind of way that had him swearing a blue streak --muffed, sure, but still loud enough, he was sure, for the next townhouse over to wonder what the hell was going on over there. 

Just a pair of professors, hard at work.

Of course Galen swallowed. Of course he did. 

"You're unreal," Orson gasped once he had come, once the room stopped spinning and the stars stopped twirling behind his eyelids, still having not caught his breath properly. 

"What did you say about sweetening the deal?"

"Yes, but this is --"

"I still feel bad about making you miss that dinner..."

Orson gave a groaning laugh even louder than his moans. "Are you going to martyr yourself over that dinner for the rest of your life?"

"Just until next year, perhaps."

"I think," Orson said, scooting close as if about to tell Galen a secret. "I think you just want to use that as an excuse. I think you just want to _spoil_ me. Deny me some turkey and feel good about handing me the world on a plate."

Galen cocked his head, that look of mischief back. "Is that really what you think I gave you?"

"You have no idea. If you don't mind, I'd like to at least attempt to return the favor."

That made Galen smile, really smile, not just smirk. "The night is young. And at least one of us has nowhere to be tomorrow." He pulled the unbuttoned shirt off at last, revealing a whole blank canvas of skin that was just waiting to be _bitten_ in kind. "And of course, yes, you can stay the night."

And that was exactly what Orson was hoping to hear.

**Author's Note:**

> This work came from my most recent fic giveaway -- I do them every time I hit my next hundred followers! Cuppy is a lovely person who asked for modern professors Galen and Orson, and something spicy, too. I hope I delivered!


End file.
